The Nightmare Of The Soap Opera
by PandaFire McMango
Summary: The Bohemians are trapped in a 50s sitcom! In a Leave It To Beaver world, they have to sort out whose role is whose...and figure out how to escape! This might not have updates for a while, since I might delete it. read it and let me know what you think.
1. Hell

**this is a truly disturbing idea that popped into my mind last night. i need opinions! and if you don't get it, think cliche 50s-sitcom.**

"Roger, wake up, it's an emergency…"

"Mmhmm…Mimi, go away, I'm tired…"

"Roger, get your ass up…c'mon, Rog…"

"Mimi, I don't care what mood you're in, go away…"

"ROGER!"

"Mimi, I'm not a machine!" Roger sat up sharply, his eyes flickering between sleep and waking. He heard a strange sound. Something that he knew he heard before, but not recently. Wait…it sounded like...

"Mark, why am I hearing a laugh track?" Roger asked, rubbing his eyes and pushing the fogginess in his mind away. Mark's voice was bitter as he replied from beside Roger.

"I hate to do this to you, Roger, but open your eyes." Roger lowered his hands and blinked. Then he looked around. Then he blinked again.

"Um…Mark?"

"Yup?"

"I have a few questions." Roger's eyes were huge. "First of all, where the hell are we?" He glanced at Mark. "And for the love of god, why are you wearing a dress?"

The laugh track boomed out of nowhere. Roger shrieked and practically leapt onto Mark, who shoved him away. Roger stared around at what had been the loft when he went to sleep. It was a cozy little house now, complete with flowered drapes and shiny coffee tables. Armchairs squatted on either side of him, and the wallpaper was tasteful. From an unseen kitchen, Roger could smell bacon cooking. He looked down at himself. He was wearing kiddie pajamas with cowboys on them. They had built-in feet. Mark, who was standing beside Roger where he lay on the floor, was wearing a housewife's dress with an apron and slight high heels. He was also wearing pantyhose. Roger mouthed silently.

"Yeah, I have no idea what the hell is going on either," said Mark with a shrug. "I woke up and the loft looked like something out of _The Dick Van Dyke Show_. Plus, I was wearing this crap. Incidentally, I don't know how girls can do it, these tights or whatever ride up horribly." Mark tugged at the back of his dress. Roger whacked his leg to get him to stop and then jumped as the laugh track screeched from all around him.

"Mark, I'm…I'm wearing footsie pajamas. And you're dressed like my mother. And the loft is something like my personal picture of hell. And—"

"Someone better explain what the fuck is going on here!" shouted Mimi as she stormed in. She too was not exactly normally dressed. Mimi was wearing a long, saggy blue dress and a cream cardigan. Her hair was done up in a bun and two granny glasses were perched crookedly on her nose. She looked like a seventy-year-old. Still, her clothes didn't seem to have changed her temper, for she stomped inside with blazing eyes.

"I wake up and my apartment has yellow wallpaper, these horrible dentures floating a cup by my bed, and it smells like cats! And now…oh holy fuck, what happened here? And what happened to you two?" Mimi was staring at them. Roger clambered to his feet, cursing the footsie pajamas as he did so. The laugh track roared, giving him a headache.

"Mimi, we have no idea what's going. We woke up like this too." Mark shrugged. Roger up at the ceiling. He saw no trapdoor or speaker from which the accursed laughter was coming from. However, he did have a very strong and sudden urge to suck his thumb and call the laughers meanie-pants.

"Well, we've obviously either gone insane or this is a dream." Mimi sighed. "If it's a dream, everyone else will probably be here too. I bet that sooner or later, someone is going to stick their head in that door," she gestured at the gleaming white door that she had come through, "and say—"

"Honey, I'm home!" shouted Maureen as she leapt inside. Mimi screamed, and Mark grabbed Roger's arm. Maureen was covered in fur. Completely covered. And the fur was fluffy. Dark brown, fluffy fur that gave off the odor of chew toys. Two bright eyes peeped out from underneath the fringe above her eyes, and her mouth hung open to reveal sharp white teeth and a red tongue. Her fingernails were long and curvy, and her hands seemed to have paw-like pads. She looked like the Wolf Man.

"Oh my god, it's here too! Sweet!" Maureen barked as she somersaulted around the room in a frenzy of delight. The laugh track thundered. Mark, Roger, and Mimi ignored both of them. They were too busy staring at the others.

Collins was the one who looked the most normal (not normal for Collins, but normal in a sane-world kind of way). He was wearing a light brown suit and a red tie, with a smart hat that matched the suit in color. He had a briefcase in one hand, and a newspaper in the other. The expression on his face was murderous.

Joanne stood beside him, grinding her teeth together. She looked ridiculous. Her hair was done up in two giant pigtails that stuck straight out from her head like branches, each one tied with bright pink ribbons. Her dress was also bright pink, and it had a lacy, frilly, spangled skirt that stopped far before her knees. The sleeves were short and puffed; they, like the whole dress, were smothered in lace. Her shoes were brightly polished Mary Janes, and her cheeks were unnaturally pink. In one hand was clutched a doll with bright blond hair and a version of the pink frilly dress that Joanne was wearing.

"I want to know who is responsible for making me wear this, and I want to know now," Collins growled. You might think he was over-reacting unless you know just how badly Collins _hated_ suits. Mark put one hand on his hip and raised an eyebrow.

"Collins, you think _you're_ badly off?" More laugh track. Collins stared at the three of them. Joanne marched over to the couch and sat down angrily, her skirt rustling like a truck full of doilies.

"Whoever's doing this, I'll sue him for everything that bastard's got," she muttered. Mimi sat down beside her, mouth open at the sight of the dress. Maureen was cart-wheeling around the house, giggling madly.

"Are you kidding? I'm a dog! It's great! I'm great! Weee!" She pounced on Collins, pawing the front of his shirt. He pushed her away disgustedly. The laugh track sounded again, louder than ever. Maureen yipped and ran over to Roger, who laughed as she jumped in the air.

"You're so funny, doggy!" he said happily. Then he slammed a hand over his own mouth in horror. Collins groaned.

"What's going on? We all found ourselves in this weird little house…kind of like this one, actually," he said, looking around. Mark sighed.

"It's not much, but I try to make it homey." Collins nodded, then did a double take.

"Wait. What did you say?" Mark looked terrified.

"I don't want to know." Another wave of tinny laughter. Roger winced. Collins walked over to the couch where Mimi and Joanne were sitting. He cleared his throat.

"Unless I'm mistaken about those soaps my cousin used to watch every time we went to visit her, we seem to have been thrust into a sort of _I Love Lucy_-_Leave It To Beaver_ alternate universe. And frankly, I hope to God I'm mistaken." The others looked at him in total horror. Joanne thrust the dolly at Mimi and stood up. Her skirt flounced up, and Mimi shut her eyes tightly.

"I think this is a very bad dream. I want out. NOW." She made for the door, but before she could open it, Angel stepped into the door frame. Or someone who looked a little bit like Angel, at least. A very old man with a long grey-white beard, suspenders, and orthopedic shoes who looked a little bit like Angel.

"Ok, since when did I become a grandpa?" Angel asked with a carefully controlled voice.

**bizarre. VERY bizarre.**


	2. More Hell

**i know this is seriously messed up. i apologize. **

"HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

"Oh my head," moaned Joanne, pressing two fingers to her temples. The laugh track bellowed out from nowhere, sending Roger scurrying over to hide behind Maureen and causing Collins to swear profusely.

"I see it's _not_ just me," Angel observed, stepping inside. She angrily swept the waist-length beard to the side; it fluttered feebly, then promptly fell back into place. Mark sighed.

"Dear, you really should take more care of yourself. Oh my god, someone shut me up before I start talking like Mrs. Brady," he moaned, wringing his hands. Collins slapped him upside the head.

"Get a hold of yourself, woman! I…I mean Mark." Collins' eyes widened. He glanced around at the others and finally settled on Joanne. "Joanne, say something, anything."

"Why, will it get me out of this dress?" Joanne said sourly, picking at some lace on her sleeve. Collins let out a sigh of relief.

"Well, at least you can still talk like yourself. The rest of us…" Mimi stood up and stamped her feet.

"I am perfectly capable of speaking like me! And I'll ask you to show more respect, young man! When you've lived through two World Wars, you can make assumptions about the rest of us!" Mimi pointed an accusing finger at Collins. He rolled his eyes.

"Uh-huh. Sure, Mimi, you definitely didn't sound at all like my grandma right then." Mimi bit her tongue. Maureen barked and scampered over to Angel, where she started rubbing against the worm grey pants that Angel was wearing. Angel shooed her away.

"What the hell are you doing, Maureen? And why do you look like a Newfoundland dog?" Maureen panted and yipped.

"Dunno, but isn't it great? I'm a dog!" The laugh track blasted. Angel shook her fist at the ceiling.

"Shut your yaps up there! There's no common decency these days, no respect for personal privacy."

"You're so right, dear," agreed Mark. Angel wheezed and walked over to the couch, gesturing at Mimi to move over.

"My back's giving me trouble again, let me sit down for a—oh my god, what the hell just happened?" Angel looked incredibly frightened. Mimi pulled her down onto the couch.

"You're going all weird, like the rest of us. This is creepy; we don't know where we are or who's done this to us, and now we can't even act like ourselves," Mimi said with a sigh. Joanne glared and stood.

"That's not true; I'm still me, not some sappy little tramp, thank the lord…" Suddenly there was a strange _ooh_ing sound, as though a group of people were gasping. Collins' eyebrows shot up.

"I've got it! I know where the hell we are! I know what's going on!" Everyone turned to him in surprise.

"What? What's happening?" cried Roger. Collins crossed his arms.

"Don't you all get it? Like I said, this is _Leave It To Beaver_ hell, and we're the main characters! Look…I'm the dad in this suit—god, it's horrible—and Roger and Joanne are the little kids. Mimi and Angel are the grandparents."

"Wait…does that mean I'm the mo—the mo—" Mark couldn't say it. But he didn't need to. Collins backed away with a look of terror on his face. Angel and Mimi didn't know whether to laugh or be indignant. Maureen was yapping. Joanne was sulking. Roger was curled up on the floor, sucking his thumb.

Things were not going well.

"Mark…Mark, let's just not talk about that, for the love of god," Collins finally begged. Mark nodded so fast his head was a blur.

"Of course, darling. No, no, I mean Collins! Your name is Collins!" Mark slapped his cheeks rapidly. Collins shuddered.

"Anyway, we know who we are. But what the hell is going on? Why are we acting so weird?" Mimi asked.

"Hell if I know. How do we get out of—"

"Howdy!" The door swung open to reveal Benny, wearing a mailman's suit and a grin. Everyone stared at him for a moment, and he grinned back. Then Maureen started growling.

"I've got a couple bills for you today, and a birthday invitation for the little miss!" Benny said brightly. He reached into the big bag hanging from his shoulder and took out a bundle of letters. Collins uncertainly took them from him and sorted through them.

"They…they're addressed to me…and Mark too, only you're written as Mrs. Mark Collins…" Roger's head poked up from the end of the couch.

"Is there one for me?"

"Not today, son," Collins said vaguely, still flipping through the letters. No one noticed. Maureen was still growling at Benny. The hair on her back was bristling, and she gnashed her teeth. Before anyone could stop her, she leapt towards him, barking angrily. Benny shouted and stumbled back, but she knocked him down. It took Collins, Angel, Mimi, and Mark to pull her off him and make her stop biting his pants leg. The laugh track blared.

"Control that animal," Benny huffed, jamming his cap back on his head and hastily closing the door. Angel ruefully nudged the abashed, cowering Maureen with her foot.

"Crazy dog…can't it go to the pound?" Maureen whimpered and crawled over to Roger, who boldly put his arms around her neck.

"Grandpa, you can't get rid of the doggy! That's mean!" Mark sighed.

"Dear, you have to keep it trained then. After all, you did promise that it wouldn't knock the mailman down anymore." Collins nodded.

"That's right. Be a man about it and train that dog, son." He crossed his arms in a satisfied way. Mimi shook a finger at him.

"Just make sure that boy does what he's told. With my hip acting up, I can't keep tripping over that animal. And another thing—"

"WILL YOU ALL SNAP OUT OF IT?!" Joanne screeched. Everyone jumped and blinked, as though they were coming out of trances.

"Wait…what just happened?" asked Angel in a confused voice. Joanne stomped her feet.

"You were all acting like idiots! Roger, let go of Maureen, for god's sake." Roger hurriedly unclasped his arms. Maureen shook herself angrily. Joanne ground her teeth together.

"Don't you all get it? We have to stay on our toes, or else we'll start acting like people on _I Love Lucy_, and I _hate_ that show."

"But Jo, you're acting normal. I haven't seen you change at all," Mimi pointed out. The others nodded. Joanne shrugged.

"I have no idea why I don't have an urge to play with dolls or whatever…but thank the lord, I really don't. Anyway, that's good. I'll be able to keep you all from doing things like…well, like what Mark is doing." Mark looked up at the mention on his name. He had been absently straightening the pictures on the walls. Collins sighed.

"Mark, sit on your hands if you must, but just stop _doing_ that!" Mark nodded and clasped his hands together, his face set. Roger frowned.

"But where's the laugh track coming from? I don't like it…" He stuck his thumb in his mouth as his brow wrinkled in a puzzled frown. Maureen leaned her head against him. Angel ruefully pulled at her beard.

"I don't know…but really, I'd feel a whole lot better if I knew who the hell was doing this to us."

"Ooh, pick me, pick me!" chirped a disembodied voice.

**weeeeeeeeee!**


	3. Lost In Hell

**this is really short and weird. i don't care. ho-ha. and i just finished watching "The Best of the Rest" American Idol. It was...interesting.**

"Daddy, I'm scared! Make it stop!" Roger whimpered, crawling across the floor and wrapping himself around Collins' calf. Collins shook him off in disgust. Everyone else was too busy freaking out to notice.

"Dang it all, show yourself!" Angel barked. Maureen actually did bark, yipping and growling at the incessant giggling that was filling the room now. Mark pressed a hand to his mouth and gasped daintily. Joanne stamped her foot angrily.

"What the hell is going on? Who are you?" The giggling stopped.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, that's not the way a young lady should talk," admonished the high-pitched voice. All of a sudden, Joanne found herself sweeping into a curtsy. She struggled against the force that moved her limbs, but it was no use. Mimi hacked up a little phlegm and squinted through her glasses at the ceiling.

"Now listen here; I'm 19 years old and my back is killing me, I'm nearly blind, and I have a strong desire for some prune juice. Either you tell me what's going on or doggone it, I'll get my husband to whup you good." The laugh track sounded, blasting out from nowhere.

"Mimi? Not married here," Angel said crossly. Mimi shook herself.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." Roger slowly got to his feet, thumb stuck in his mouth. Maureen bounded around his feet, endlessly barking. His eyes grew wide, and his lip began to tremble.

"I…I don't like it…" he sniffled, and before anyone could stop him Roger was wailing like an opera singer on speed. Mark hurried forward to shush him.

"Now, now, dearest, it's all right…" he soothed, ruffling Roger's hair. The voice whined in sympathy.

"Oh, the poor little boy! Here, this'll cheer him up!" There was a sound like a wind chime and a small red tricycle appeared in the middle of the floor. Roger, forgetting his tears, shrieked in delight and ran to the tricycle, mounting it and happily tooting the rubber horn as he pedaled around the room. Joanne stared in horror. She checked the others' faces; they were watching Roger fondly, eyes clouded and blank. She felt panicked and decided to get desperate. Taking a deep breath, Joanne marched over to Collins and slapped him across the face.

"OW! Shit, Joanne, what was that for?" he shouted, his eyes losing the glazed look. Joanne grabbed his shoulders and shook him. The others ignored them. Above Roger's horn, they could hear the voice singing a happy little tune that sounded like _Mary Had a Little Lamb_.

"Collins, listen to me. You need to focus on staying normal. The others are all too far gone to be much help, so I need you to really resist any urges to—"

"Read the newspaper and go bowling?" Collins suggested, his eyes beginning to cloud over. Joanne shook him again and he snapped out of it. "Ok, ok…but what do we do?"

"Find out who that voice belongs to," Joanne declared, glaring at the wall as though it was the source of all this. "Find who it is and kick their asses until they get us back to normal."

"I like that. Simple, to the point, and really, really satisfying." Joanne nodded firmly and put her hand on his shoulder like a soldier. But then she frowned.

"Wait…we need something to keep you from getting all weird and brain-washy. Let's see…here, try this. Close your eyes." Collins obeyed. "Now empty your brain. Just let it go dark and completely blank. Something should get thrown in there soon enough." Collins clenched his fists and frowned with the effort of wiping his mind clean. Joanne waited a few anxious seconds. The laugh track burbled as Roger tipped over and started to sob. Mark hurried to comfort him.

"Joanne, I think I need to try this again," Collins said, opening his eyes.

"Why?"

"Um…I tried emptying my brain and I started hearing…well…"

"What did you hear?!"

"_La Cucaracha._" Joanne grinned and grabbed his hands.

"That's perfect! Okay, now whenever you think you're about to go all weird, play _La Cucaracha_ as loud as you possibly can in your head. Hum it if you need to…but just focus on that." Collins raised his eyebrows and pulled his hat a little to one side.

"Whatever you say…"

"_That's_ what I say. Now come on. I've had the itchiest lace in the world rubbing a certain, tender place for a while and I am _done _with it!" Joanne exclaimed vehemently. Collins gave her a weird look.

"Like I said, whatever you say…"

**hee hee. the whole humming thing, i got it from a hilarious book. in the book, it was the Friends theme song. for me, it's "Boho Days" from Tick, Tick...Boom! That song gets stuck in my head so much it's not even FUNNY.**


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